


nodus tollens

by halcyoneous



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College Student Historia Reiss, F/F, Fictional Religion & Theology, Internalized Homophobia, Multiple Universes Colliding, Priestess Ymir, Supernatural Elements, but at the same time also not, side male/male relationship, unethical behavior
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-10-09 03:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17399219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyoneous/pseuds/halcyoneous
Summary: (n.) the realization that the plot of your life doesn't make sense to you anymorebetween no belief and blind faith, present day and antiquity; though it was inconvenient, their paths crossed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I tried something new: writing about lesbians, yumihisu, and writing a chaptered story. one day I had this idea when trying to think up of an explanation on the (non)existence of ghosts and they're the first pair that came to my mind.

_‘No class today, Professor Yeager is—‘_

The unfinished message on the whiteboard was the first thing Historia saw as she entered Classroom 107. Then it was the black-haired girl trying the best to support herself as she’s writing it, though she’s limping and not standing even straight. Then it was the flock of students, heading outside when Historia still hadn’t taken a seat.

But she’d still sit in her usual chair, at the left corner next to the window, just in front of the lectern. She didn’t want to slip herself in between other students, a lot of them bigger than her, to leave class only few minutes in advance. Not when everyone’s on the way, gathering around the door and remaining so long, so long she can pick up a book and read them when everyone’s too busy with what’s happening.

 _What’s happening_ was Galliard shouting at the big man next to him, “Reiner! Tell us, is it true that you met that ghost again?”

The crowd turned silent, which was strange since they’re so used of having their own conversations with their circles. Not so much when they’re waiting for a continuation to the myth that spreads wide on campus these weeks, “Right, I met him again. That giant with a commonplace face. At the corridor of the male dorms’ ninth floor, last night after I’m back from football practice,” Reiner told them in detail, in case someone missed the info.

“Aren’t you scared? Did you cry?” it’s Pieck, dragging her feet closer to the classmates as fast as she can once she finished the announcement— _‘Attending a conference in Port Slava, Quiz postponed until next Tuesday.’_ The one that was abandoned by the class as Reiner had stolen their attention.

“Why should I be scared and cry? He’s not doing anything to me. He’s the one who’s shaking when seeing me. If only you could see him by yourself, you’ll know that ghosts are nothing to be feared.”

Half of them cheered on Reiner, on how he’s a true man, a brave one for his confident-sounding confession. The others argued against him, on how stupid he is to challenge the spirits that didn’t dwell in their world. Reiner himself disregarded all of it, unsatisfied when it came from their mouths.

He turned back to the desks and chairs that seemed empty and dares to ask, “Right, Historia?” to her, to the only one not standing up when everyone else was facing his way. To the only one finding textbooks and whiteboards more amusing than the whole talk, which was nothing to her. To the one trapped inside, feeling useless to step any further without getting straight to home.

“Yeah, right, why be scared?”

Historia retorted with the first thing she could think of, ignored whistles coming from some students. She’s still as uninterested as ever, it’s just that she didn’t want to make them walk even slower or stay in the classroom and corridors even longer.

Reiner smirked, looking so smug, but only after he seemed to earn her support. Some of the students started echoing her statement (“Listen to our goddess from the Physics department! There’s no way he’s gonna be scared!”), just a moment after they riled Reiner up. It’s ridiculous, like everything else about this.

It’s how Historia noticed she said the wrong words and need to stand corrected. So she elaborated herself, “I mean, why be scared of something when we can’t even prove their existence?”

And it’s how she killed the conversation singlehandedly, split the sixty of them off to their next classes or to other corners of campus.

 

—

 

Ymir had spent a few days walking by foot in the peak of winter. Wearing only a layer of linen robe and a worn out leather sandal. Bringing nothing but her own self, her own soul, sustaining her life only with what she could get from the nature; the water from freezing rivers and the hunt from dormant forests on her path.

The surrounding villages tempted her to stop, to take shelter at someone’s house, even if it’s just for an hour or two. But she must not end her own march, not until she reached the sanctuary. Not when the sun dropped lower and lower, leaning closer to the top of her head each noon. When the days grew shorter and nights grew longer, she knew she had to go even faster instead, or she would be late.

An old lady that reminded her of the high priestess at home paused Ymir as she passed her small cottage, just below the hills of Utgard where she’s heading for, “Would you like to stay for a while?”

Turned out she was just like the other villagers, wanting to give her the only bed for the night, lending over the roof above them.

“It’s alright, my lady, you don’t have to do that,” Ymir brushed the woman’s hand aside, tried the best to not use any force _, to be kind._ She meant well with their gesture, Ymir just couldn’t accept it by herself.

The old lady disappeared, only to come back with a cup of hot water that must be boiled just a few moments before and handed it over to her.

Once again, Ymir rejected, “Drink that by yourself, I’m fine, I’m not feeling the cold,” though her olive skin was pale as snow, though her hands were shaken and numbing as she returned the drink to the old lady. Even one drop would be too much for her to take.

It was not her right to take from other men and women when they could be eating nothing, it was not worth it if it's just for her. Who she was to do so? 

“Our lady Ymir.”

She swore was going to leave the old woman behind, but the moment her name was called, Ymir stopped. Or, to be true, the goddess’ name she bore. It’s how the priestesses who took care of her call their children by the name of the gods they served. It’s just how she was raised to not just serve, but to become like the gods and goddesses.

Was the old woman a devotee, or was she so convincing with her acts of kindness? Either way, Ymir—the mere mortal one—now could reap what she have sown, rejoiced for a while after she resisted worldly treats. She grabbed the cup and sipped the warming water. She saw a plate of fruits and sweets offering on the side table, too, so she savored them, received in behalf of her goddess.

“Thank you for your benevolent act,” Ymir said, sinking her teeth on an apple before leaving for the last few trails—with her thirst now quenched and her stomach filled.

The sun was setting in the east when she saw the small castle. When she took swift strides on its direction. That was her winter sanctuary, she knew it from the painted pictures and from the past trips. And this was the day of the solstice, she knew it from her shadows, stretching long against the grounds before the snow-covered field turned pitch black.

She opened the door and found the rooms that had been deserted since spring came to them this year. Walked straight through the halls to the sacred heart of the palace. Lighted candles lining up on her way so she could make sure everything was on its place, only to have them put off without a single wind blowing.

The lights returned in a blink of an eye, but only to show Ymir an unknown girl lying on the altar.

 

—

 

“Don’t go alone at this hour! A ghost could be coming to get you!” Those so-called friends said, like they were so sure she’s going to put herself in danger walking home by herself in the dusk. Sending her empty threats as they parted ways.

And she thought her father and brothers’ fears before she went away from them to study here in Liberio made no sense.

("Don't just leave by yourself, there are a lot of strange men outside! They could have done bad things to you!" They said, like they were so sure she’s going to end up dead the day she departed. Though that, too, never stopped Historia.)

Historia was always sure, always picked the most crowded of streets to pass by. Always watched the traffic lights and only crossed when it turned green for the pedestrians. Looked left and right and back for any signs of hazards and never settled until she was safe inside her own apartment room. Until she could lay herself down. Could take a short nap in the early night before she continue studying for the postponed Calculus quiz.

Except that she couldn’t. Minutes in and she was awake, with her eyes wide open and her world shaken.

For a second, Historia was somewhere else, though her body did not even budge an inch from her bed. The fur blanket around her turned into cold, hard wood grazing under her back, as if someone had laid her on a big, low table. But once she held on tight, she felt the fabric, softly wrapped against her skin along with the down feather mattress that firmly supported her frame.

Not convinced enough, she lifted her body to look at her surroundings, rose so sudden she got herself in a state of vertigo. As her head spun around the world, the starry night lights that she kept on flickered, switched into a row of candles burning faint. She fluttered her eyes and realized her rotating projector had went back to working as usual, showing her a scaled-down portion of the Milky Way. She could see Crux drawn over her papered walls, dimming before her room was covered in almost complete darkness.

Almost, since there was a flash of fire and a gaze from a stranger, all in front of her. And once she blinked her eye there were none. The fake stars was put back on their place and she found herself left on her own space. Everything was in its supposed place, yet it was unsettling to see them there.

And not there. Historia caught glimpses of the same stranger. The dark-haired stranger with freckles on her face. Still pointing out the flame from the candlestick she clenched to the same way. To _Historia herself, like she was to be burned with the gaze and the flame_.

And there. Historia was alone once again. No one sat beside her or stared at her because there was no one to begin with. She must be hallucinating, but what could have triggered her? She was on her best these days, fascinated by the science though pressured by the students; by the tight competition behind friendly conversations.

 _And not here._ “Why are you here?” the stranger asked, her voice clear in the middle of silence. Stood strong as if she was the authority, in the same other place that was ancient and unfamiliar. It made sense, though, it looked more like hers than Historia’s.

 _And here._ “This is my—” _Room. Why are you here?_ Historia would say instead as she returned there, but the words were left hanging on her lips. Why say anything if there was no one interested? It’s like her classmates when they’re not trying to get the best grades, when they’re dragging her to listen their (not) real horror stories. 

If they were to hear this encounter, they would have said it’s a ghost. But a few seconds of her own experience were far from enough to confirm the idea. Not when the scientists raced each other to prove it right or false for ages, only to find nothing they could agree in.

She probably was just seeing things, she suggested herself as she tried falling asleep. Only to be disturbed by the same, strange voice as before, “This place is not yours.”

 

—

 

The unknown girl was untouched and unbloodied. Not a human sacrifice. Not like there was anyone that would use the altar in a priestess’ place, not like her goddess would ask the people for any lives. Ymir would have heard it like how now she heard sounds of breathing and struggling; the girl sure was living.

In the eyes of her people, that foreign girl would have been a goddess incarnate and there should have been no doubt about it. Ymir admitted, the girl fitted an image painted on her home temple so well—the high priestess taught her that it was Christa, the Good One. With her fair skin and pale hair and blue eyes that shone bright like gems, though she only saw her under the light of her candles.

Or not. The glow she brought over as Christa—the curious lookalike—appeared was unnatural. It’s like stars were summoned on the stone walls, the Southern Cross that was off-season over an empty and odd-colored sky. Yet it didn’t seem like the stars that spread over the sky that she looked up at the last few nights.

It was a spark she never saw before. Was it magic? Was it a miracle? Ymir would have touched if it lasted longer than her candle, the one that flicked back to life when she held it right in front of Christa’s face. She knew she should have learned the signs better before she could believe. She’s a woman of faith, she could stir chaos if she were to feed herself false revelations and spread it to the people.

But the presence faded faster than Ymir could grab a case of incense sitting just around the corner. The one she would have needed to burn if it was a demon, an impostor that must be warded off from the sanctuary, much less touch.

“Who are you to say that? This is my room.”

The next day, the same girl returned to voice her concerns when Ymir cleaned the offering table. Realized a dusty cloth brushed against her body by accident, she pushed Ymir’s hands away.

How and why could a girl so young be so nonchalant, claiming her territory over the castle, the shrine for the gods that had stood here before them? Of course she would. It was no wonder when they’re no longer there, not even in the hills of Utgard. No commoner in this world would live with this luxury and no priestess would have a chamber this worldly.

The cold floor Ymir kneeled on was warm and fuzzy, the altar table Christa laid on was now a fort of soft blankets and pillows. This would only make sense for nobles and gods and goddesses. Or, once again, demons playing tricks with mere humans.

Because even before standing up to find her way back, Ymir was back at the hall of her sanctuary. Roaming over an empty altar table, holding out on a handful of incenses that she set off. Purifying the room with its smoke and scent and chanting prayers and verses she could remember.

Every day and night, every time she felt a sliver of doubt, she spoken them out loud for the sake of her own strength, “I am Ymir. The First Goddess of Paradis. This place you have stepped in is my sanctuary, and you should not cross.”

Though she did not find herself standing in the frontlines or in the door; she retreated from the altar by a few steps and held the incenses down instead. Not out of fear, but out of consideration. And just how right Ymir was, since after a few nights the girl showed herself, heard her and said, "I’m Historia and we're in the modern age, in the twenty-first century. This is no paradise, it's just Earth. Liberio, Marley, to be exact.”

How wrong she was, since _Christa_ —no, Historia—seemed to know things she couldn’t understand, “Gods or ghosts just don't come and go in front of your face. You must be a human, too."

She saw through Ymir’s whole scheme and pointed it out to her like this wasn’t a lesson, this was child’s play. Only to disappear to thin air like the stars she spread over the room—with what would have been a snap of an invisible hand, now for the rest of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things are elevating, but only for a bit. it's definite that their meetings and confrontations is not a one time thing, though. and that it changed them; in a bad way.
> 
> warning: internalized homophobia

It has been Historia’s third day in a week of staying awake until the sun rose up in her window. And it’s not just because she kept working on solving problems for the quiz later on. The equations wasn’t even the worse part of the night. It’s what was coming for her at first; the stuffs that should have only been there in nightmares and lies.

Yet Historia knew that she was transported back and forth between an ancient shrine and her apartment bedroom, though she laid on a surface the whole time; the offering table, her bed and blanket. That she stared straight at Ymir—a silly woman with god complex—with her own eyes wide open throughout the evening. It stopped right before it struck twelve in Historia’s clock; only then she could start hitting her books in peace.

Trying to distract herself with some math, some formulas, something in her mind that wasn’t a strange woman saying she didn’t own the space she paid rent for. Ten numbers of analyzing derivative functions and graphs, all done on a seven-hours-long sitting that felt shorter than the phenomenon. For lack of a better word: experience, encounter, or plain hallucination?

She couldn’t tell. Either way it still wore her out, darkened her eyes and sullen her face so much it showed. Anyone that passed through Historia and had more than a few seconds to spare would have shown their concerns.

“Reiss, you’re in my class, right? If you’re not feeling well enough, you can go home and ask me for a make-up test once you’re better,” Professor Yeager said to her when they rode the same elevator down. Though she just bid him a _good morning_ like she would do for any other professors.

Historia shook her head and walked next to the professor that brought over test papers for the class. Acted as if nothing had happened and sat through the quiz at the designated schedule. Worked her way through the questions just like anyone else.

And left together in time with the rest of class. It wasn’t much like their last cancelled session, where those science students spent half an hour alone listening to ghost stories Historia didn’t even bother to remember. This time they just passed in front of her.

Some of them stopped to ask, “Historia, are you alright?”

But once she said, “I’m alright, I’m not sick,” they ran down the hallway. Like they never wanted to give a hand if she ever asked them for a favor. She preferred it that way, though. It’s peaceful. It’s less hassle for her.

Until someone (Galliard or some other fool again, she guessed) shoved Reiner in front of Historia when she was going to attend General Physics, which they did not share with each other. Reiner did not step back once he saw the door, though. Instead he questioned her right in front of it, “Do you need something? Do I have to bring you to the clinic?”

And it sounded condescending in her ears. Historia gritted her teeth, tried not to let out swears and make a scene out of this. Took a deep breath before she bit with her words, “I said no,” and left to enter her next class.

This time Historia failed to keep up with the subject as she wanted it to be, the fatigue taking a toll on her body. Making her give up, falling asleep at the near end, her head leaning on an open textbook over the table. Someone patted her shoulders repeated times once the classroom was clean from Physics department students, tried to bring her back to her senses, probably since she ran out of time already.

But once she woke up and looked back, she found that there was no one close enough to her to do that, there was nothing they said that she heard. It’s just the Biology students filling the seats; it’s just time for Historia to go back to her apartment, since she had no more activities to do here in campus.

The sun was still shining bright in the sky as she headed to the city. It’s less crowded when people hadn’t went back from school or work. Sure, there was nothing much to worry about, wasn’t it?

Yes, she did arrive in front of her tower, on a small street that was full of stylish buildings. But she also watched it flash upon her eyes. Concrete jungles growing themselves into untouched hills, everything vanishing save for a temple above her apartment grounds. If only for a second, before she returned home, before she was greeted by the same figure that’s been bothering her these days.

—

 

“Our First Goddess, Our Lady Ymir. Our three protectors, Maria, Rose and Sina—“

In between her three prayers of dawn, noon and dusk, Ymir felt like she was floating in the borders of the present and the future, of here and somewhere else.

Ymir would like to try finding hints of truth in Christa— _Historia_ and her words. But the girl was nowhere during the day, not when Ymir was doing her rituals or when she was walking out to the surrounding village. And she was reluctant to say anything about it during the night, not when she’s supposed to be suspicious to any spirits that weren’t gods or goddesses.

Even if Historia showed up wide awake, even if Ymir’s head was full of sounds shouting for answers, she’d remind herself through hymns and praises.

“—Bless us, bless the first and last paradise and forgive all the sins we have.”

She stopped her chanting of a long prayer and her drawing of a circle on the floor once the sun slid downwards from its peak. Once shadows started to appear under everything that got exposed to its light. She took it as a sign that she had to go outside to meet people. After more than a week of secluding herself from the others like a hermit.

Even when Ymir was wandering in the woods, even when she would get well wishes and prizes for it, she pushed her people out of her way, avoided them like the plague.

But Ymir swore she’s not going to make the same mistakes anymore, so she went down from the foothill. Only to found out that she stepped into a portal she hadn’t found in the previous years and days—a gray chamber. Went out in what felt like a second, when it’s a height that would have killed anyone if they were to freefall from there.

She wasn’t sure of its existence, but she was thankful for it. Like how she was thankful that the gray street was strong and wasn’t cold under her bare feet. That it seemed to branch out into a bigger civilization, with a complex of school built nearby—which was a more decent place to walk through than the small village of Dauper.

Though she found it unsettling, how she wasn’t used with the crowd. How one step and she was in the clearings of the same village after all. How the faces of people around them shift.

One time they were dark-haired and olive-skinned Subjects of Ymir. Like one tall, yet timid and humble young man who stumbled upon her between trees, gave her gifts on a wooden crate, marked with the name Hoover. “Our lady, accept our family's offerings,” that man whispered before running away to the rows of houses.

The other time they were light-haired and fair-skinned and from Marley. Like a crowd of adult students with clean and new clothes, rushed inside an open hall with stacks of books in their hands. They said nothing when Ymir slipped in between them, tangled herself in between their chairs and tables to search for something familiar.

For something that was there and should be met there. _Or someone._ Since Ymir saw Historia for the first time. In the afternoon and not the night, in a room that wasn’t in Ymir’s sanctuary. The foreign girl slept like a dead woman, with no mind towards her ongoing study. Perhaps Historia thought the fallen logs of the woods were a safe shelter—and that was one thought Ymir had to shake off, since it wasn't a place for a stranger to be alone.

But she didn’t move forward. She called the big young man that gave her offerings, the one that still stood out in the middle of fair men and women, “Sir Hoover.”

“Berthold, my lady.”

“Do me a favor. Wake up the small girl that slept there. I need to go. I can’t do it myself.”

More than just plain hesitation, it's also a hunch Ymir had: she should return home to the shrine. _To the real goddess._ Run through the woods, the big town, the people and places that blurred out into an unknown union in her mind as she tried to recall—

Slender buildings over the plains where the sanctuary was built. A lot of light that wasn’t burning like her fire, wasn’t twinkling like Historia’s stars. No signs of gods or goddess in guard, just Historia herself among other humans, creeping closer as she came to cross the same path.

Ymir gathered her courage to act, “You’re still coming back here? Are you that sure this place belonged to you, sinner?” raised her voice and stood in between the gates—no, the gaping steel door that got them up and down.

 

—

 

Historia should not have been offended when people said she had sinned, she did not believe. Since that was the truth, one that she took pride in. Yet here she was, filled with fury—a tranquil, yet obvious one—when she heard what Ymir said.

Except that Historia’s been enraged since before that. She wasn’t taking it so well that she did not show this place was hers from the first time. Thinking common sense would be enough to talk Ymir out of trespassing just because there was this illusion that a temple did stand right above her room. So Historia stated it, tried to assert her dominance, though her voice had turned out weaker than ever, “I am sure. I have evidence.”

As she scrambled to search for something in her pockets and wallet, she gave directions, “Hold the elevator.” That got mistaken once Ymir spread her arms over the doors that were sliding shut upon Historia’s orders.

Before the metal doors could press on Ymir’s body, Historia improved her instructions, “Get in. Press the button on the bottom left.”

Ymir stared at the lines of numbers like she just found something new. Her long, big fingers ran against them like the commonplace feature were precious stones. _Ridiculous._ It’s a good thing Historia happened to find her room access card and hopped in right, hit the number of her floor before the gates closed on them.

And just the two of them—or just Historia alone? There was a silence she did not expect inside, when all she wanted was questions and calls for challenge. She did not offer herself to be ignored in the cold, not even by the lower floors she won’t stop in.

It’s not until she was (or they were?) halfway in that Ymir showed up next to her to ask, “What kind of evidence?”

Having an ace up her sleeve the whole ride, Historia showed the card she held. A white plastic card with a drawing of a few big people on the front side. Read out the information she knew like the back of her hand, “Titan Apartments, fifteenth floor, Unit 1517. Tenant name: Historia Reiss. Do you still need to ask the landlord about this?”

“No,” Ymir had just looked at the number that increased in front of them; 11, 12, 13, 14.

Historia took it as her win, as she went out when the bell struck and led Ymir to her room, their usual point of meeting. Flicked the card to unlock the apartment and tried to show that there was no sanctuary, no altar of worship in this unit. Just a living room, a kitchen, a dining room and Historia’s own bedroom. No room to praise the gods like what Ymir would have wanted.

Except that the closer Historia was getting to her room, the more it felt like the hallway that led to the so-called sanctuary. Though she did not hear footsteps from her behind, or see a person following her in. Though once she was far enough to be inside, she was back at her room, all by herself and without the feeling of being trailed.

Turning her attention to the small window facing outside, Historia found out that the sky was dark and it’s raining. She turned on the rotating projector for ambience. For the constellations she needed to put on her walls, since this city's polluted air won't let her see the real ones even at night. But also for testing purposes, since she wanted proof if it could last one whole evening, without switching on and off like the past couple days.

Her phone rang on full volume and she spent the next few minutes flipping bedsheets and handbag zippers to retrieve it. The ringtone died for seconds before it returned, resonating through the space, then repeating. The lights didn't flash even once until she held the gadget on her hand and received the seventh call in a row.

"Frieda?"

"Historia, my dear! You have to hear this!"

_Which means I didn't have to,_ she’d say. Unless when it’s Frieda Reiss, renowned researcher in human biology, epitome of everything nice and her eldest sister. So she stayed still on the line, silently anticipating for important information.

“I’m going to Liberio to attend a seminar at your school next Monday!”

“That’s amazing!” Historia shouted to the phone in joy. Tried hard imagining herself not being alone for a few days. Seeing Frieda again when she could be traveling the whole country the next week, walking together without having to worry about the rest of their family and the problems Historia had here—

“Yes, it is! Is there anywhere you want to go to?”

And Frieda seemed to think the same, but when Historia was the one that had to decide where to go, her mind turned blank again. And the only thing she could come up with was, “Frieda, take me to therapy.”

That was when she admitted, she might be going crazy.

—

 

The voice on Ymir’s head mocked her, “What kind of temple did you have, goddess?” It hit her even worse when it wasn’t just a wicked thought, it was what Historia would have asked if she were to trespass into the sanctuary once again. Tainting herself with sin, not paying the price of forgiveness to the goddess. Ymir did not ask her to do it either, since a simple offering or a half-hearted prayer won’t be enough for repeat offenders.

Not those with knowledge, like Historia who had even knew of the Titans. The devils on their cautionary tales and holy texts. The reason why subjects of Ymir lived in fear behind their walls, lived with no one else in the world but the deities that wrote their destiny.

From what Ymir was told since she first joined the cult as a child, everyone else had been eaten, everywhere else trampled over by the giants. Yet here they were, the people of Marley—the realm that was too calm for the end of the world, too weird to be the same place as Paradis, only a thousand years ahead. Spread free like they were birds on their own advanced society, just outside this sacred shrine.

From what she learnt when she watched those people so far, everyone was minding their own business, everything was asking you for permits. Yet here Historia was—the one that obeyed the rules of her world to the letter, that disrespected the orders at the sanctuary like she was a match for the gods. Barged in to the place of worship and claimed it as hers, as if having Christa’s face was enough for her to pull it off.

And in a moment of clarity, of crouching alone in front of the altar and musing on the great goddess and good spirits, Ymir thought, _perhaps it was._

This was the second week and Ymir only had three months of stay in a year. She had been running behind in that respect, missing a crucial ritual that should have been the first thing she done. Sure, she did burn incenses at the first day, did pray and did draw a seal that she hadn’t finished throughout the days. It didn’t work as well as supposed, though, so tonight she promised the gods she’s starting anew.

Wiping away the glyphs and shapes that she couldn’t even decipher anymore. Sweeping the shelves and corners for unused scents and chalks that she would be using for tomorrow when the dawn comes. She even pried open the box she got from Berthold, the Hoovers’ son, in case they packed in something for praise purposes.

Finding that she had none of both just as the night fell upon her, Ymir mumbled, “Oh gods, what have I done? Since when did I forget this?"

But her woes won't bring those items to her, so she ran down to the cold village in the woods. She had to start buying or gathering goods before the people around her close their doors and go to sleep. Their small market had been long closed at this point of the day, their workers had been sent home.

So Ymir’s only hope was finding someone that would worship in the open. Or someone she knew as a believer, so that she could ask them for donations and devotions.

Ymir was losing her sight, wanting to gather dried leaves to be burnt and crushed under her hands when she smelled familiar hints of flowers and smoke in the forest’s air. When she found was a small girl with a lit bundle of incense in her hands, just next to a lady that looked like her. “Pray to the gods, miss,” the girl said to Ymir with her little voice.

The girl offered her some, spare and unused as Ymir would have wanted. “Thank you, small one,” she received it, ruffled the child’s hair in endearment and continued, “But I will pray at home. Don’t worry about me,” before she rushed back to a more inhabited space.

Walked in to the depths of Dauper only to witness a scene she could never thought of before. Only to feel the world shift under her feet once again, to see people both from Marley and Paradis blend in front of her eyes. A couple of a big, bulky, blonde man and a familiar dark-haired subject; not only being close to each other, they had been one as they were smashing their lips together.

“Berthold.” Ymir held her breathe as she recognized the subject, _“You have sinned,”_ Ymir would have said, _you have sinned for touching your kind._ She would have gave him a punishment or a wage to pay. But her own tongue was tied. She even had to struggle to ask for the favor that was her very right, “May I borrow something from your home?”

Even if they were right in front of his home. Even if it was just a box of chalks that wasn’t worth much.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> their attempts to stop apparitions, or delusions, and the odds of getting help from other than each other.
> 
> (this is are wrote like two months ago so it might get updated slower and slower hope you don't mind.)
> 
> warning: unethical, unpleasant conduct of a therapist. sort of.

Frieda and Historia stepped into the waiting room of Liberio University General Hospital, with a few other patients on their respective roll calls. It was a weekday, right after the end of recess, a working hour for the college students and faculties and most residents of surrounding areas. The two sisters stood out in between seniors, housewives and children, young and beautiful with striking contrast of dark and light hair.

They did not watch people’s eyes tracking them as they went to take a seat on one of the long steel chairs. They were too deep in a question and answer session; Frieda’s questions, Historia’s answers, all through inaudible whispers.

Even when Frieda had agreed to come with her the moment Historia pleaded her to, there’s not a day that had passed without her being dissected. Over and over again, with the same subjects of interest:

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Are you sure you’re skipping General Chemistry for this?”

“How are you so sure you have to go with me?”

And Historia replied each time, responded with something along the same three lines, mentioned without fail at every call and text last week:

“I need help,” when she had told Frieda about the auditory and visual sensations that she felt the past two weeks. The same woman with a holier-than-thou attitude, the poor lighting and lack of technological advances across uncharted highlands.

“I am certain,” when Frieda made Historia a forged sick permit for it right after the younger picked her up on the train station. Said she could study on the materials she missed once they return to her apartment, said she’d taught her even.

“I couldn’t have done it any other way,” when Historia had recalled an advice from a sad boy she didn’t want to remember by name. The one who came to her to sob that he couldn’t keep his composure when he went to therapy with a friend. He couldn’t take that he’s diagnosed with depression when he could see it coming from a mile away.

Historia would have brushed them off after the second or third time if it was anyone else. But this was just Frieda. She never meant bad. She was just preparing her to speak with strangers like Miss Yelena. Though Historia would not expect such basic, such personal things to be what psychologists would use to assess their patients either. She knew the limits of Frieda’s knowledge; she mastered the structure of human brain, but not the treatment methods for the mind.

"I wonder when would they call me," Historia raised her voice once she was done explaining, then rose up herself even before any name or number rang on the loudspeaker. Frieda's purple eyes shot straight on her, along with every other person that had glared on them since they walked into the white waiting room—white plains covered with heavy snow, lined up with dead foliage. They must have thought she’s insane right now.

“Anything wrong, Historia?”

Frieda was supposed to be close to her, to attend to her with intent. Yet, with nothing on Historia’s line of sight other than blizzards and fallen trees, she was a mere disembodied voice. _Just like what Ymir was._ Only those words felt more caring, more familiar, more like their hometown than the city that they stood in or some utopia that Ymir lived in.

 _Everything with it_ was on the tip of her tongue. Turning invisible, being alone, feeling her chair turn into lying logs that burnt rough against her skin.

But it was just a fleeting moment, so Historia denied it, “Nothing, I just thought I've been sitting for a bit too long,” once the chilling wind brought her back to the hospital waiting room, to Frieda's side. Once a faint announcement transmitted through the air.

Once a short-haired woman in a white suit stood next to Historia on the opposite side, stared at her with wide eyes like she was a rare specimen. Grabbed her hand that weren't offered and introduced herself, "Historia? This is Yelena." Historia feared that Ymir’s ancient tribe had come to attack her—it looked more like her people than Ymir’s, but you never know—but it was just her appointed therapist.

Historia shook Yelena's hand back as she was dragged to the upper floor. Alone. Frieda followed them through the hallway only for Yelena to tell her off right in front of the therapy room, “I need to speak to Historia herself, or it won’t work.”

And Frieda, with her full faith in healthcare professionals, let Historia go inside to face the counselor one to one. Even when she was shivering under Yelena’s touch.

Even when she ended up missing the first few questions, disregarding the new space she was brought. Neglecting the plush sofa she could sit in and standing in the middle of nowhere because all she could see was the snowstorm.

 

—

 

With her necessities on hand, without even bidding a proper goodbye to the people she passed by, Ymir traveled back to the sanctuary. Only to rest in the bank of a river in the middle of the night. She had went back and forth this far a few times through her stay, and she could rely on her own strength to make it before the dawn without having to stop. It's just that she was in such a wretched state that she couldn't return as is. 

Messing up her routines. Leaving the base unattended—with not even a single candle burning, lighting the ways for good spirits to walk in. Letting a known worshiper commit sin in front of her and not punish them. She would have just taint the sacred corner and disappoint the gods and goddesses if she were to enter without any effort to clean herself.

Ymir cupped the last drops of the stream water above cracking thin ice into her palms, purified her filthy self off with it. Splashed it over her eyes that had seen a man when he's courting another man. Wiped her face that did not even turn sour upon the deed. She'd drown herself inside if she could break through, if only she did not want to change for the better. "Forgive me, My Lady," she murmured every time the water dripped on her skin.

"Maria, Rose and Sina, protect me from worldly temptations,” every time she blessed herself with the cold shower, reminded herself that mercy was always there for the people that would repent and won't repeat. Before she realized her hands were probing the road.

The smooth road was neither rocky nor snowy. It must be the roads of the Marleyan city, with signs she couldn't read. But, somehow, Ymir was sure this led her to the area of Historia's school, the building standing just on the other side of the street. It shouldn't be too far away from the apartment built above the Utgard Sanctuary of The First Goddess Ymir. This was a distance both she and Historia could walk at in ease, especially when it wasn't as cold and steep as the path in Paradis.

So Ymir paced through the vacant road as fast as she could, turned left and right and around until she found a smaller alley. Only to run out of time and return to her own highland trail before she reached the cursed Titan building.

It had only made sense to her that must be a place of devils when it was gone. If not only for the incense and chalk she brought around, if not only for the last few strides she took, she would probably not be safe. At least it was now her shrine that she needed to hike for. And dawn was far enough that she could sleep in advance before starting her duties.

Ymir woke up right when the sky was warming, the sun was rising. She stretched her arms to take a handful of incenses, then a single piece of chalk, all lying on the floor next to her. Then marched to the altar, watched her surroundings with care in case her scenery shifted once again. In case Historia showed up to shout at her again.

After she was sure that she did not move away from the sanctuary, did not meet someone else in her way, Ymir struck a match on the scented sticks. Let the smoke spread to the whole room as she crept back to the floor and started sketching a big ring on it. Closing her eyes, she pictured the one she’s inviting in the heart of the chamber. Reigning over the paradise and regarding her with the warmth of a thousand suns.

Then Ymir chanted as she drew an ash tree, the source of life and its miracle, on the center, “I beg you to descend to the earth and become our salvation,” sang as she wrote spells and charms on its side, “Come to the mass by noon, I summon you…“

But she was broke out of the trance of her labor as a sliver of doubt had filled her heart. Who was she trying to call here?

_Ymir, the Goddess? Her three daughters? Christa?_

 

—

 

“Earth to Historia. Listen to me and just sit here. Make yourself comfortable and just tell me, what’s happening?” Yelena threw Historia’s small body on the seat across from hers. Perhaps hoped that she could take a better look of Historia, her movements and mannerisms when she wasn’t acting out.

But, first of all, Historia wasn’t acting out. She wasn’t comfortable either, but that’s another story. She just did not need to sit on the cold ground, no need to speak when there was no one she could reply to. Talking alone would have made her look even worse. Now that she found Yelena, who was meant to be inspecting her mental health, though, Historia opened up within one breathe, “As you’ve heard, Miss Yelena, I’ve been seeing things. Other people would have said that was a ghost, but ghost doesn’t exist. Am I right?”

She sighed when she saw Yelena nodded (“You’re absolutely right!”), and continued, “So there was this girl from some ancient era that said I don’t own my apartment, and it was her temple of worship. It wasn’t well-lit like my room and I am sure I did not redecorate the past few months. Not with a medieval aesthetic. Yet here she was, calling herself a goddess... what’s her name… Ymir?”

_Who even knows?_

“So you said you’re hallucinating?” Yelena cut Historia just when she needed to stop; to inhale, exhale, calm down from distress. She was almost thankful for that act until the therapist refuted her story, “But you’re smart enough to know that’s not real, didn’t you? Then get past that. You shouldn’t be so worked up about it.”

“If only it was that easy, Miss.” As soon as there was enough air in her lungs, Historia hissed at Yelena. “If only I did not witness that for the past two weeks. If only there was a logical explanation, I won’t be here questioning my sanity.”

And instead of tending to her patient, Yelena watched the ticking clock on the wall, realized it was almost half an hour more than the scheduled time. Abrupt but overdue, instead of giving solutions, she wrapped it up one-sidedly, “Your time’s up. If you want to talk over this more, book another session next week. Just make sure to not overthink it, Historia.”

Historia? She had went away before Yelena’s sentence was over.

 

—

 

In between praising the gods and finishing her magical circle, there were only a few seconds in which Ymir had her attention split. And it was between _which god or goddess_ _did I invite in_ and _why is a certain girl not around._

 

It was something that she should have been content with; the peace and stability of this world, the constant standing in this hall of praise. Yet she found it troubling to stay, relieving to leave the sanctuary locked out for once—all so she would not disturb the spirit coming down to it, so she could have a cordial audience with them once they settled.

 

Now that she was waiting, Ymir guarded the entrance of the shrine with her body as its shield, with her sight as its spear. She’d block anyone that tried paying a visit from proceeding further and pierce them if they ever seriously considered intruding.

 

But, as expected from the most stubborn of humans, someone just have to wander on the hills. Someone or some people, it wasn’t much of a difference for her. It would have undone the spell either way, if she wasn’t there leaning against the door. If she wasn’t getting in the guest’s way. If she didn’t bark, “What is your purpose here? We’re not open until midday,” even before seeing them eye to eye.

 

There were two women that walked past Ymir in a flash; one blonde and one raven, nevertheless both didn’t look human to her. She’d name them every goddess, saint and good spirits if only she had the nerve—

 

“My lady, it’s me again.”

 

But the one who spoke to Ymir in a low, faint voice was a man, so acquainted he addressed her like she was a friend. There was only one person that would made sense of that through the winter and it’s Berthold, who came to Ymir’s sanctuary even after he had tainted himself with no care.

 

“Wait, Bertl,” Ymir used a nickname like he was a child, “I’ll tell you when you can get in. Just a little more, most likely,” peeked at the sundial on the side of the gate; the shadow was only an inch away from the center, and asked, “What brought you here?”

 

“I’m begging you for forgiveness. I am well aware that I had sinned…”

 

Berthold looked like he had to explain himself further than that. Like he wanted to open his mouth, yet words won’t come out from there.

 

But otherwise, Ymir could say, “Good.” He was good and she was the one who lacked, Ymir thought as she received his confession as it is, “Tell it to Our Lady later, she’ll come to listen to your story,” as she even convinced him for a thing that Ymir herself was uncertain of.

 

That was when Ymir thought it was time to open the doors to the shrine, to look over the arrived spirit. Noon had arrived, anyway, so she walked in front of Berthold, not even minding whether the boy followed her in. Whether did the boy continue his confession, as she heard murmurs (“But what you don’t know was with Reiner—I mean, that man—I have never forgot to tell him…”) that went silent the further she went in.

 

She’d rather he not, though. There’s no god or goddess here, not in the hallway to the altar or the table or the center of the drawn seal. The ones in were Christa—no, _Historia,_ she corrected once she noticed the clothes and the demeanors—and another stranger, sitting in the ring of the circle, desecrating the holy land.

**Author's Note:**

> hope this is okay and please let me know how do you think about it


End file.
